After the Landsmeet
by dragonagefan
Summary: A story that begins after the Landsmeet and ends about 2 years after the end of the game.
1. Chapter 1: After the Landsmeet

Charlotte Cousland stretched out on her blanket at the edge of camp and laced her fingers behind her head. She felt the weariness of the miles walked ebb out of her as she lay looking up at the stars. Only a few days had passed while they had arranged the Landsmeet and stayed at Arl Eamon's estate in Denerim, but during that time her body had quickly readjusted itself to sleeping on a real bed and not tramping all over the countryside every waking moment. It felt good to be out of the city, though.

"Not feeling well, my dear?" Alistair approached from the camp's central fire and sat down. He leaned back on his elbows and stretched his legs out next to hers.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He let his head fall back and also scanned the night sky. "You've not acted like yourself tonight. I know things have been very rough lately, but… well… just talk to me, please."

Charlotte sighed and sat up, crossing her legs in front of her. She bowed her head, and her long brown hair, loosed from its confining knot, fell into her face.

"I can't stop thinking," she said, finding a loose piece of leather on her boot to twist between her fingers. "About my life. About my family…" She blinked, feeling hot tears well up in her eyes, willing them not to spill out over her cheeks. "When we're idle it's harder to push the thoughts away. And now things that have been decided..."

"How did it feel to kill Loghain?" she asked suddenly, turning to face Alistair and looking at him intently. Her hands clenched to fists where they rested on her legs.

"Feel?" He still looked at the stars. "I don't know. I think it would have pleased Duncan to know that he was avenged, to know that the threat to Ferelden Loghain posed was gone."

"But it didn't bring him back."

"No… it didn't."

"I thought that killing Howe would make it hurt less. I thought it would make everything right again. I've been living for revenge for such a long time now."

Alistair pushed himself up and scooted next to her. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his chest.

"Nothing makes losing someone you love hurt less," he murmured into her hair, "except a lot of time, and maybe killing a few thousand darkspawn along the way." He chuckled and he heard her laugh half-heartedly. "I get so wrapped up in surviving through the day that I forget that you've lost as much as the rest of us. Maker, woman, you don't have to play the strong hero all the time. Let it out a bit."

"It's not just that," she said, and sat up to look at him again. The look of concern and love that filled his face brought new tears to her eyes. He wiped them gently from her cheeks.

"Everything changed the night my parents died," Charlotte took a deep breath and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "Everything. I still don't even know if Fergus is alive. Then, to join the Grey Wardens and have that change so quickly too…"

"I know, my dear, I know," he tried to comfort her. "We'll take care of this pesky Blight and then we'll track down Fergus. He wasn't at Ostagar, so he must be out there somewhere."

They were silent for a minute, and then she said, "You know, Alistair, when we were first getting to know each other, I thought my attraction to you was just my way of trying to cope with my losses. You know, reaching out to anyone friendly to save myself from despair…" She glanced up into his face quickly and saw his eyes crinkle as he smiled his familiar, utterly appealing smile.

"And then, once you got to _really_ know me, you knew that it was nothing but true love because of my rapier wit and charm," he finished, smiling widely.

"Yes," she answered softly, grinning back. "Yes, I really do love you. I don't know what I would do without you."

She rested her head on his shoulder again, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Their other companions began to ready themselves for sleep. Shale, taking watch as usual, lumbered off into the woods to circle the campsite, her crystals visible flickering through the trees. Leliana hummed to herself quietly as she finished combing her hair and climbed into her tent.

"It's late. Let's go to bed," Alistair got to his feet, pulling Charlotte up next to him. Despite his words, he didn't start toward their tent. He stood in facing her, holding her hands in his.

"And now," Alistair said softly, "to be king and queen of Ferelden." He spoke the words slowly. "I can't get used to thinking that." He rubbed her fingers with his own. "I mean, we've been discussing whether or not I'll be king for awhile now. That wasn't so surprising. But by the Maker, it did shock me when you persuaded the Landsmeet to make you my queen."

"I know, it was sort of sudden," she began, but he cut her off.

"I'm not upset, I told you that. It's just that…" He blushed. "Well… um, I…" He held both of her hands in one of his now, and reached with his free hand into a pouch on his belt. "Oh, Andraste's mercy!" he said in exasperation.

"This is it," he said resolutely, and sank down onto one knee in front of her. "I was going to ask you anyway, after this was all over. Maybe it's redundant at this point, but..."

And, looking up into her wide eyes, he pulled from his pouch a small, plain gold ring and held it up to her. "Charlotte Cousland, you make me crazy but I don't want to be without you, not ever. Will you please be my wife?"

Charlotte smiled. She smiled until she felt tears running down her face again. "Yes, Alistair. Yes, my love," she whispered, and he slipped the ring on her finger.

"Ah, good," he said, blushing harder. He got up and kissed her, and they clung together for a long moment. "Now then, shall we to bed? We'll be in Redcliffe tomorrow, and there will be much to do." She nodded, and they walked toward their tent.


	2. Chapter 2: Our Only Option

_The final blow against the archdemon… the taint travels into the Grey Warden… a loop in your hole, so to speak… _

The words played themselves in her head over and over, and all she could do was sit on the edge of her bed and stare at her hands. After all this, the choices were few and dire. If Riordan failed, the options were to die, sacrifice her love, or have him bed an apostate to conceive Maker-knows-what kind of abomination child.

Rather than act, she sat paralyzed by the words, and twisted the ring Alistair had placed on her finger only the night before. She thought, her brow furrowing, until she made her decision.

"You are a Cousland," she said to herself as she removed the leather armor that she had worn for so long now, the straps and buckles supple with wear. She placed it in the chest at the foot of the bed and dressed herself in a long shift and cloak that had been placed on the dresser by an unseen maid. She pulled the pins from her long brown hair, noticing for the first time the invasive streaks of grey. She dashed water on her face from the basin and, slipping her feet into dainty slippers, walked out of the room quickly.

Around the corner, she rapped lightly on the door she had seen Alistair disappear into before she had retired to her own room. Before she had heard Morrigan's proposal. Before this new crisis had arisen.

The door opened, and as soon as she saw Alistair's puzzled face on the other side of the frame, she squeezed through and closed it, placing her back against it.

"Charlotte?" he asked, his brows going up. "What is it? Maker preserve us, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"We…need to talk," she said, lowering her gaze. Somehow she could not bring herself to look into his warm brown eyes right at this moment, with these words in her mind.

"Of course, my dear. But come, get into bed with me. We can talk there. It's warmer."

He had also removed his armor and put on loose clothes for sleeping. He sat on the edge of the bed, with its thick covers turned down, and patted the blankets invitingly. A warm smile played around the edges of his lips. She sat down, reluctantly, next to him, but didn't climb into the big bed as he so obviously wanted. He leaned forward and kissed her, rubbing her shoulders, but pulled away quickly when he felt no response from her still lips.

"What _is_ it?" Alistair looked truly worried now, and he grasped her chin gently to force her to look into his face. What she saw there, as always, warmed her heart: open love, adoration, devotion, utter trust. "If this is about Riordan's news… Well, I understand your concern. But it's what we have to do, right? We've come all this way. We have to see it through to the end, no matter how unpleasant it may be. Can't we just spend the night together and worry about tomorrow, well, tomorrow?"

Charlotte shook her head slowly, willing herself to go through with her plan. "I can't…" she whispered, then spoke more strongly. "I can't risk it. I just can't! What if Riordan doesn't make it to the archdemon? What if it has to be one…" She gasped, the words catching in her throat. "What if it had to be one of us?"

Alistair smiled again, sadly, his hands dropping back down to her shoulders. "It is our duty…"

"Duty!" she cut him off and stood, turning her back on him. She wrapped her arms around herself and there was an ache in her middle that felt like it would tear her apart. "I don't _want_ to die. I don't want you to die. I don't want to have to make that choice."

"We must. That's what we're here for, remember? I don't like it either, but… we must." The bedcovers rustled as he moved, and he was behind her, moving her hair away from her neck and kissing her gently under the ear. He put his arms over hers, pulling her close against him. Heat radiated from his body.

"Alistair, you trust me, right?"

"Of course. What is it? Now you've got me really worried." His breath puffed against her skin as he laughed, trying to lighten the gloomy mood.

"Morrigan was in my room earlier, and she knew what will happen when the archdemon is slain."

"What? How?"

She shook her head, then turned in his arms to face him. "There is another way. No Grey Warden has to die tomorrow."

"And you listened to her? What does it involve, sacrificing babies?"

"Not exactly. Alistair, love… you have to sleep with her."

For the first time since she had met him, Alistair was speechless. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. She took advantage of his momentary lack of argument and all the words she had carefully planned came rushing out.

"She says if you go to her tonight, a child will be conceived and the soul of the archdemon will seek _it_ instead of _ours_ and neither of us will be killed to end the Blight!"

Alistair held up one hand to signal her to stop. "I am speechless. Literally baffled. I don't believe this has ever happened to me before in my life. Not even when Duncan came to the Chantry for the first time. You want me," he indicated himself by spreading his fingers on his chest, "who has only even been, you know, intimate, with you, to go and spend the night with _Morrigan_ of all people?"

"Well I was more intent on the 'no one has to die' part," Charlotte replied. His tone stung her. "This wasn't an easy thing to me to think about either, but it would be preferable to watching you die tomorrow, wouldn't it? Or to you watching me die?" She immediately regretted her harsh tone when she saw the hurt in his eyes. She softened. "I can't lose you. Not now, not after everything that's happened. I want to live, I want _us_ to live." She was babbling, talking too much and too fast, but she didn't care. The words were as much to convince herself as to convince him.

"Please." She made herself stop with the one word. She looked into his face, the face of the man who she had loved and fought beside and cried with so many times, with whom she had vowed to spend the rest of her days and help rule the country that they both were so devoted to.

"Oh, all right. Maker's breath!" He threw his hands up in frustration. "But you better still be awake when I get back. I'm going to need a shoulder to cry on, big time."


	3. Chapter 3: Later that Night

She waited, wrapped in quilts on the big soft feather bed, writing in her journal. When she had first begun the journal, she had no idea it would become something that sounded like a bard's tale from the old legends. Charlotte had decided to leave it for Brother Genitivi, if he had successfully refugeed from Denerim. Someone would know their story if they fell fighting the archdemon.

At the back of this book, neatly pressed between two plain sheets of paper, was the rose Alistair had first given her when their flirtation first changed to true courtship. She wrote a few lines in the journal, and then flipped the pages back to look at the rose again, running her fingers gently over the dried petals. Charlotte smiled to herself as she recalled what he had said when he gave it to her. Her experience with templars had left a bad impression, until she met him. His jokes always made her laugh, even in the darkest moments.

And even now he was in bed with Morrigan... at her request. She pushed that image away from her with a grimace.

Then her thoughts wandered the first time he kissed her. She could call to mind perfectly the pressure of his lips on hers, his arms around her, and the hesitant touch of his tongue. The memory and its accompanying flush of warmth on her face made her think of the first time they had made love.

She snuggled lower in the bed as she remembered how nervous he was when he asked her to spend the night with him. Maker, how he had stammered, like he was actually worried she would say no! Closing her eyes, she recalled the tentative way he had undressed her, his surprise and delight at her pleasure at his touch, how willing he was to let her guide his hands on her body … and it had been so _sweet_. It was no less sweet after these months together than it was the first time.

The door to her room clicked open and she sat up quickly. The journal fell to the floor with a clunk. Alistair stepped inside, his normally healthy complexion pale and wan. He held his shirt crumpled in his hand, and as he dropped it to the floor, she noticed it was spotted with blood. He threw himself face down onto the bed beside her, groaning. His back was covered in cuts and bruises.

"Woman, I will follow you into the jaws of the archdemon, into any pit in the Deep Roads," he growled into the pillows, "but don't ever make me do anything like that again."

"Was it so bad?" Charlotte murmured as she reached for the pot of healing salve she had placed near the bed.

"Yes. No. Yes." He burrowed his head further into the pillows. "It was… a bodily function with no feeling behind it. I did it for us. Let's not talk about it anymore."

His hair was wet, plastered to his head. Water beaded on the taut muscles of his shoulders and the small of his back. Charlotte sat next to him and began smoothing the salve into the clawed furrows on his shoulder blades. She rubbed the tension from his back and he began to relax slowly, warmth and color returning to his chilled flesh.

"There. Turn over."

He rolled onto his back, wincing at the sting from the scratches, and folded his hands behind his head. There was a long, shallow cut high on his chest, and his ribs were badly bruised. She pulled her long shift up to her knees and threw her leg across him, straddling his hips, and was surprised to find hardness there. She looked up at him through her lashes and smiled a little.

"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You can't expect to massage and pamper me without a bit of… excitement in return." He reached up and tangled his hand in her hair. "Besides, _this_ is how I'd rather spend the night before we set off to assault a besieged city and try to save the world. Just in case, you know." He pulled her face down to his.

"Alistair," she said, leaning down to brush her lips along his chin, "we've come entirely too far to fail at this point.


	4. Chapter 4: Slaying the Archdemon

The events of the next days were a blur, and it was hard for her to discern the details even afterward. The forced march to Denerim, the skirmishes with the darkspawn, seeing the city in flames and ruins, it was all like a nightmare to her. Alistair stood over her more times than she could count, protecting her fiercely with his shield, an expression of utter resolve etched on his face. The blood, the battles, the allies falling, the desperation of seeing the sheer number of their enemy looming before them… all in a haze of pain and determination that they _must_ reach their goal.

And finally, bursting through the last door onto the roof of Fort Drakon and seeing the archdemon, battling it with sword and magic and sheer resolve. Charlotte took the final blow, plunging her sword deep into the creature's brain as it screamed in rage. A bright light burst forth and she closed her eyes, thinking that Morrigan was wrong somehow, that she _would _die. Light and heat emanated from the dead archdemon, throwing her back in a cataclysmic explosion, and she lost consciousness.

* * *

Faint sensations woke her— the familiar prickling warmth of Wynne's spells, a tugging and binding around her torso, and a hand clasped around hers.

"She's stable and healing, but she won't wake up for awhile. You should go get some rest yourself."

"I'm not leaving until she's awake."

The voices faded in and out, coming from very far away. She sank back into the darkness.

* * *

The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was Alistair, slouched in an armchair that he had pulled to her bedside. He was sleeping in a bright pool of sunlight that streamed in through the high window, his head lolled to one side. The beam fell on his unshaven cheek, turning his coarse hair to gold.

Her eyes slid around the room. Alistair's armor, which he usually cared for devotedly, was in a jumbled heap in the corner, still splashed with dark blood. Near the bed that she lay in was a small table that held a basin of water and an abundance of gory bandages. The room smelled medicinal.

She tried to speak, but her throat was too dry. Instead, she moved her leg slightly, bumping his knee. Maker, even that hurt.

"You're awake!" Alistair was alert instantly. He seemed to want to do three things at once, but settled on kneeling next to the bed with a cup of water, which he held to her lips.

"Thank you," she whispered weakly. She tried to push herself higher in the bed but winced at the pain in her ribs. "What's happened?"

"You've been unconscious for almost two days. The explosion, after you killed the archdemon, threw you back into some rubble and bruised your ribs. That's why they're bandaged. Um, other than me being worried sick, everything's great."

"The Blight?"

"Gone. The darkspawn have fled back underground for now."

She sighed and smiled at him. "We did it."

"_You_ did it. I was so afraid that I would lose you, but here you are. And here I am. Not bad, right?" He was holding her hands tightly and smiling so widely his eyes almost disappeared.

"I'm so glad you're here," she said, and reached up to touch his face.

A short time later, Charlotte and all her companions gathered in the great hall of the palace in Denerim. They were all bathed, rested, and wearing clean clothes. Oghren had even washed his beard. Alistair stood before them on the raised dais to address the assembled nobles.

"My friends," he called out in a strong voice, "we are gathered to celebrate those responsible for our victory. The one who led the final charge against the archdemon remains with us still, an inspiration to all those she saved that day." He held out his hand to Charlotte, who climbed the stairs to take it. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I formally present my betrothed, who will soon be your queen." His voice was tender on the last words.

He went on to explain his intention to turn the arl of Amaranthine into the new Grey Warden headquarters, and to build a monument to the fallen Wardens in Denerim.

After the official speech, he turned to her. The nobles began milling around, speaking among themselves.

"You look very handsome," she said softly, running her fingers over the embossed golden armor covering his chest.

"Oh, you're just saying that," he chuckled. "At any rate, I can't wait to get you alone. These formal affairs drive me insane."

"Meet you upstairs later?"

"I'll be waiting." He arched an eyebrow and smiled mischievously. "By the way, there's a group of citizens waiting outside to get a look at their hero. You should go out on the balcony after you speak to everyone. I'm sure they want a word, especially that tall fellow over there." He pointed across the room to a man who had just walked through the door.

"That's…" she gasped. She turned and kissed Alistair swiftly, then ran down the stairs to greet her brother.

"Fergus!"

He turned and caught her as she hugged him. "When I heard that my little sister was not only a Grey Warden but also leading Ferelden into battle? I was surprised, to put it mildly. Father would be so proud of you. I know I am. Let me look at you, all dressed up. You hate wearing pretty clothes."

"Fergus, where have you been? I've been so worried," Charlotte scolded.

"I was injured and recuperating with the Chasind. I didn't have any way to get word to anyone until I left."

"I killed him," she blurted. "Howe, I mean. I killed him myself."

"I wish I could have been there with you, after what he did to us," Fergus's eyes were cold. "At least the Grey Wardens got Amaranthine. There's some justice in that." He sighed. "I'm heading back to Highever soon, to rebuild. I will see you soon, I hope?"

"If I can get away."

"Good. It won't be the same without… everyone." He glanced up toward Alistair, who was watching them talk. Noticing the movement, Alistair smiled. "But look at you, sis. That man loves you. It's obvious."

She blushed. "Yes, we're very happy."

"That makes me happy, pup. Now don't spend all your time talking with me. These other stuffed shirts want a word with their hero."

She hugged him one last time and turned away to speak with the other people gathered in the hall. Everyone was smiling and happy, relieved that the looming threats to their homes was gone. At last she stepped out into the bright sunlight on the balcony, to loud cheers from the people gathered below. Bright banners and flags danced on the breeze. The whole square in front of the palace was packed with people. Dazed, she raised her hand to wave, and felt Alistair slip his arm around her waist. She hadn't heard him follow her outside.

He kissed her gently below the ear and whispered, "I love you."

She murmured the words back, turning her face toward him. "Always," she added.


	5. Chapter 5: Interlude: A History

And so the fifth Blight ended. Two Grey Wardens triumphed over a darkspawn horde despite a country embroiled in civil war alone, without aid. Ferelden was reunited under the banner of Maric's second son, and there was harmony amongst the Bannorn.

The Wardens' companions remained in Denerim for a time to help organize the rebuilding of the city. After six months, King Alistair wed his princess-consort and fellow Grey Warden Charlotte Cousland in a lavish ceremony. The wedding was held not in the palace, which was the King's last priority to rebuild, but outside Fort Dakon, near the monument to their fallen comrades.

With the help of Arl Eamon of Redcliffe, King Alistair quickly became adept at the business of state. His charm and ease with the people made him a quick favorite among the Banns. Queen Charlotte excelled in matters of foreign policy, and Ferelden entered an unprecedented age of prosperity.

Only the mage Wynne remained at court as the King's advisor, and with her help, relations between mages and the Chantry improved greatly. She traveled frequently to the Circle of Magi for meetings with the First Enchanter and the Templar Commander.

The other brave warriors who accompanied the Grey Wardens on their quest dispersed after the royal wedding, their travels taking them to the reaches of Thedas. They were all recognized and beloved by the people for their help in defeating the archdemon and defending Denerim.

Amaranthine became the new base of operations for the Grey Wardens, who slowly rebuilt their order in Ferelden with aid from Wardens from Orlais. Queen Charlotte traveled Ferelden for a short time, contacting those they had met on their journey and offering them a place among the Wardens. Their numbers slowly grew.

Highever, Redcliffe, the Hinterlands, and Lothering were reclaimed from the blight that had covered them, and people slowly returned to their homes and farms. The new Grey Wardens also began rebuilding Ostagar, though progress there was slow.

Ferelden has returned to a position of strength in such a short time. Ruled by a strong King and Queen and buoyed by the support of its people, the country looks to the future with hope.

--From _The Fifth Blight, a History_ by Chantry scholar Brother Genitivi, 9:33 Dragon.


	6. Chapter 6: Correspondence One

Dearest Alistair_-_

I have sent this messenger ahead from Highever, where I visit my brother, to Val Royeaux by sea and then overland to Weisshaupt Fortress. It should be waiting for you when you arrive, for he is a swift runner, alone and unburdened, and should make excellent travel time. I could have instructed the messenger to intercept your convoy on the road if I thought that, after you heard my news, you would actually continue on into Anderfels. I know you, love, and you would turn back before you even reached Nevarra's capital. How would that look to the Warden Commander in Weisshaupt? Though it was a difficult decision, I admit. Part of me wants you here with me, despite what I know is best politically for us and for Ferelden. My dashing king must make an appearance when he is requested by Warden headquarters, even if it is a six week journey both ways. Perhaps you can goad the pokey oxen into a faster gait on the return, and make it in four and a half weeks.

I have seen Wynne today and confirmed it. Alistair, you will soon be a father. Can you believe it? Wynne says I am about seven weeks with child now. After all our worry about the difficulties of conceiving, and here we managed it after a mere 18 months of marriage. Isolde would roll her eyes and call us peasants for our fertility!

I have also been in contact with the mage Avernus from Soldier's Peak. No, I will not consider any of his magic now that it could endanger the baby, so don't fret. But I did ask his opinion on the taint, and the potion I drank when we ventured there to retake the castle for the Levi Dryden. He is of the mind that the potion altered the taint enough so that we could bear a child. He requested a sample of my blood, which I sent, along with the request that he keep me informed of his research. I see nothing immoral about this and I will not hear any fussing about it! I know you do not trust him fully, but I think he is harmless to us. He is trying to help us, and who knows what his research could reveal for us and for our recruits.

Speaking of recruits, I have elevated the former templar Cullen to Warden Commander now that I am no longer able to perform those duties. He has come out of his ordeal during the Blight remarkably well, I think. I had a long talk with him at Amaranthine before I returned to Highever, and he is a natural leader. He reminds me of you, in some ways, though without much of your adorable bashfulness. He is a good leader. And he has lost much of his former prejudice toward mages now that he has worked in close contact with them. In fact, I believe he may be courting a young mage from the Circle now, of all things! I declare, these young people and their flirtations. Tell me _we_ were nothing like this, I beg you!

Things are going well at court, so don't worry. I have not yet announced my condition to the people and would wait until your return if I could. I'm afraid it will be evident to all who see me before you are by my side again. I will no longer be the shapely lithe lass you left but a swollen cow of a thing. Ah, my wounded vanity. I think of the child we will have and it's all worth it. I'm so happy. Now, hurry and conduct your business with the Wardens and return home safely. That is a command from your Queen!

I remain, my love, your-

Charlotte


	7. Chapter 7: Correspondence Two

My dear wife,

You are completely right that I would have turned around immediately when I received your letter, as well I should have. We rode into Weisshaupt yesterday and what should I find waiting for me but news of a child! I was no good for formal relations and today can barely put two words together to write to you in response. I'm so happy I believe I may actually burst.

You should see these Anderfels Wardens. They act like a smile on a man's face is as rare as a friendly darkspawn. Their Warden Commander, a nice fellow named Heinrich, managed to convince the rest of them that I am not, in fact, a lunatic or a simpleton, but merely the happiest man in Thedas. Once they understood, we did a bit of celebrating.

It's very strange here, so barren and cold. It's all mountains and pine trees, no lovely flat grasslands like our Bannorn. Even Brecilian Forest did not look as foreboding as these woods. The people are friendly enough, I suppose, but they look like their lives are rather rough. They defer to the Wardens quite differently than in Ferelden. We were met at the city of Nevarra by an escort to Weisshaupt. When the local inhabitants learned who I was, they seemed much more impressed by my status as a Grey Warden. I'm content with that, as you know, but they still treated me as if I was made of pure lyrium.

Now, I hear Heinrich coming down the hall. It must be time for another meeting. I will write more before I send the messenger back, my dear. We will probably wear a new road straight north-south between here and Val Royeaux before this trip is out, and I will name it for you.

I have brought records of induction, the names of the Wardens lost at Ostagar, and news of our fortress at Amaranthine to be added to the official records at Weisshaupt. Their summons, I have just learned, was to inquire about the slaying of the archdemon. I admit I told a lie, my dear, and said it was Riordan who took the final blow. I didn't know how to explain the Morrigan thing, and shrugging and looking stupid just wasn't going to pass with these stern fellows. It contradicts what we told, or rather didn't tell the Orlesian Grey Wardens right after the Blight ended, but they accepted my account.

Tell me again we did the right thing? Morrigan disappeared right after the battle, and no one has seen her since. Of course I'm happy with you, but in hindsight, if we had only known… We could have used Loghain. That's what Riordan meant, isn't it, when he suggested he be made a Grey Warden? Sometimes I wonder what Duncan would think of us. If he would have made the choice we did, or if he could have been more selfless. I can't help but feel that Morrigan will show back up one day with a powerful maleficar child… But I suppose there's no use in dwelling on that now. Maker knows what the future will bring. I'm looking now at the miniature you gave me before I left Denerim, and I'm so full of happiness and pride at the thought of our child that I can hardly stand it.

I'm pleased to hear about Cullen's promotion, and that he is adjusting well to life outside the Templars. He does remind me of myself, though more devoted to the Order than I was. You'll recall, I'm sure, my irreverence for life in the Chantry. He does seem like a good man, and if you trust him, so do I. And no, we were never so sickening with our flirtation. I was a perfect gentleman, and you a perfect lady, and there were no cow's eyes across the fire, or poetry, or star gazing, or… no, wait, we did all those things. I even gave you flowers. We were disgusting! Ah well, I'd do it all over again. Young love is precious, my dear. Don't you forget it.

Regarding the speed of my return—the Anderfels Wardens are giving us a small herd of horses to bring back to Ferelden. I am learning to ride now, and they are much faster than the wagons. I plan to ride back with a small group ahead of the oxen, and that should cut our travel time significantly. After about a week here, I have a trip to Hossberg to make, and I am still committed to a short official visit in Val Royeaux; remember, you packed my fancy armor for that. I can't wait to see you again. Maker, if I had only known about the child, this trip would have been postponed. I will write again soon. Please give this lad a few extra coins for his trouble when he reaches Denerim.

Yours always,

Alistair


	8. Chapter 8: Correspondence Three

My dear knight-

Since I have come back to Denerim I have been bored. Truly, I don't know why you had to take this trip alone. I do have news from home though: Fergus is getting married next summer to Arl Wulff's daughter, a girl named Helena. They met when Fergus went to call on the West Hills to see if they needed any aid rebuilding. I think it's a good match. He's been so lonely since Oriana and Oren were killed, and I would love to see him happy again. Perhaps Highever will seem less empty the next time we visit.

After council with Eamon, I've decided definitely to wait until your return to announce the arrival of our heir. However, I have gotten very large very fast, and it will be difficult to avoid notice for too long. I have taken to receiving official visitors behind the great desk in your study instead of standing in the audience chamber, and I don't leave the palace grounds much. Wynne and her young apprentice Petra- you remember the girl from the Circle?- have been at me constantly; I can't touch anything pointy without getting shrieked at like a tea kettle. Yesterday I tried to draw a bow in the practice yard and got such a scolding. I know they're just trying to watch out for me and the baby, but by the Maker, being sedentary just doesn't suit me.

So I haven't touched a weapon in months, but I have knitted and sewn two dozen sets of baby clothes, and walked approximately a million times around the gardens with Dog. Do you remember when you asked me if I would miss roaming around the countryside fighting for our lives every moment? Sometimes I do! I suppose that's just my memory playing tricks though… All I care to remember when I think back are the accomplishments and successes we had, not the trouble and losses. It hasn't been so very long ago that I can afford to forget. But now, fat and happy, sitting in a nice warm palace in a peaceful city, it is sometimes hard to think that two years have passed since we were very nearly destroyed.

Ah well. On to happier things. Wynne has had some Grey Warden apprentices from the Circle sifting through the old records at the compound here in Denerim for information about the taint. I have had no word from Avernus, but I did not expect to hear from him so quickly. The Wardens have found some old accounts of children born to parents with the taint, and though it seems very rare, it appears the difficulty is in the conception and not the birthing of the child. We were encouraged by the news, however scant the information. Wynne and Petra, and an herbalist from the city for good measure, have been inspecting me every week and are assured that the pregnancy is progressing normally. I admit that I am worried but, Maker knows we have been through enough and come out unscathed, so I feel that things will be fine.

You may also be interested to know that I have found friendship in a strange place lately. Isolde has become a valuable companion since I spoke with Eamon about the baby. She had previously been rather cold to me—or rather us, I think—since coming to court, but now she is very friendly and has offered me wonderful advice. She has been telling me of Connor's progress at the Circle of Magi and it sounds as if the lad is very talented. His studies have been going especially well. She tries to see him as much as she can, but I think it's frowned upon as a distraction for the students.

There is one other item I must relay to you. It's not urgent, but you should note it. We have received our official envoy from Orzammar and now have an ambassador residing in Denerim. King Aeducan sends word that the city has been at peace for some time, and the dwarves are now willing to engage in peaceful, continual trade relations with Ferelden.

Maker speed your return, Alistair. I miss you. Do you realize this is the first time we've been apart for more than a few of days in years? Practically since we met? Please travel safely home to me.

Charlotte


	9. Chapter 9: Return to Denerim

Charlotte sat behind the huge wooden desk in the study, surrounded by crumpled parchment. Words usually came easy to her, and she was a persuasive speaker, but this formal missive to Jader was causing her trouble. She sat staring but not seeing the portrait of King Calenhad that hung above the hearth, and tapped the end of the quill she was writing with absently against her chin.

"Your majesty?" There was a tap at the door. It swung inward enough for the guard outside to poke his head in. "Sorry to disturb you, but there are two messengers here from Orlais to see you."

"Two?"

"Yes, my lady. One is an Antivan, I believe, but he said they both came from Val Royeaux."

She arched an eyebrow, then nodded for the guard to send them in, and pulled her wrap closer around her shoulders. There was a bit of a chill in the air, despite the crackling fire in the room. The sound of voices came from the corridor, and a moment later the door opened.

"My lady, to be graced with your presence yet again after such a time," the first person through the door swept into a low graceful bow. "The joy I feel is indescribable." Still deep in his bow, Zevran Arainai raised his face and grinned at her.

"Oh Zev, do stop it." The next figure to enter jabbed an elbow into his side. This person was also familiar; it was the bard, Leliana. "It is good to see you again, my friend." Leliana pushed the hood back from her cloak and shook her hair out of her face.

"I get to have no fun," Zevran grumbled good-naturedly, and straightened. "We ran into Alistair in Val Royeaux, of all places. He bade us hurry back to Denerim before him and give you a message." Pacing the length of the room, he leaned on the edge of the desk. " He did not say what the rush was."

"The message," Leliana continued for him," was that he is postponing his official visit to the Orlesians until a later date and to expect his return by sea within the week."

"Within the week?" That was much earlier than his planned arrival. "That's wonderful news. What were you two doing in Val Royeaux?" She pushed the heavy chair back from the desk and stood. The gown she wore was tailored with a high waist and the loose folds draped around her elegantly. Usually the lines of the dress combined with the trailing edges of the shawl disguised her changed form, but she didn't expect the difference to be lost on her friends' sharp eyes. She was almost halfway through her pregnancy, and her belly had swelled rapidly with the growth of the child in the past months.

"Oh that pales in comparison to what _you_ have been doing here, I think," Zevran laughed, raising his eyebrows.

"Alistair didn't tell us!" Leliana rushed forward to hug her friend gently. She held her at arm's length and beamed.

"We haven't told anyone yet," Charlotte said, returning the embrace. "If we had, you would have heard about it before you came to Ferelden, I think."

"Well it's a good thing he's returning earlier rather than later. You won't be able to hide it for much longer." The bard stepped back and bounced on her toes happily.

"What will you do now? Will you stay awhile?"

"Yes, I think we will." The two travelers exchanged a glance. "We planned on returning to Denerim anyway. Once we met Alistair, we just came directly." Zevran put his arm around Leliana's shoulders. "He is wild to see you again. No wonder, now that we know why."

Charlotte watched her two friends carefully, and noticed the way Leliana leaned her hip toward the elf's. A smile touched her lips. She was not the only one with a keen eye for details, and she knew her friends too well not to pick up on their subtle changes in body language.

"This is not the only news there is to tell today," she said. "How long have you two been sharing a bed?" She laughed at Leliana's immediate blush and Zevran's brazen grin.

"Since we met again in Lydes on the road to the capital," Zevran replied smoothly. "I knew it was only a matter of time before she would succumb to my charms." He put an arm around Leliana's shoulders possessively.

"Well come then," Charlotte laughed again, happy to have some of her friends with her again. "Let's get your rooms sorted, and you can wash the dust of the road from you, and we can catch up." She opened the door and beckoned to a servant who was passing by. "I want to hear of your adventures since I've been cooped up here in the city."

* * *

It was six days later when Zevran walked into the study at the palace and handed Charlotte a spyglass.

"If you will look to the north and east, I believe you will see something familiar to you." She took the glass and crossed the room to the window. Far in the distance, she could make out a ship. Its sail was blue and white with a golden griffon emblazoned on it. It bobbed on the water like a child's toy, but the strong wind definitely bore it toward Denerim's harbor.

"It is indeed Alistair's ship," Zevran said, and caught her arm as she turned and started to run from the room. "But before you start thinking that you will go to the docks to greet him, may I remind you of your condition and the opportunities for skullduggery that exist in such a place."

"But it's…"

He held up a finger to stop her. "I have already asked Leliana to meet his ship when he lands to inform him that you are waiting here. I know," he spoke over her rising protests, "that it has been what, three months? Three months since you have seen each other, but I must insist. Another two hours will not be so long to wait by comparison. You know this is a better plan, and I have Wynne on my side as well." He smirked as she opened her mouth again to argue. "I will not have you place yourself in danger, Warden, not in your condition."

"You're right, of course," Charlotte grumped unhappily. "You always call me 'Warden' when you're unhappy with me." But immediately she brightened, thinking of seeing Alistair again, picturing his face in her mind as she had done so many times in the past months.

The ship landed at the docks, and soon it seemed like the whole of Denerim was out on the streets to see their king's return. The atmosphere of the city changed so that it almost felt like a carnival as the people packed close to the main road and the soldiers began to take up protective posts. Charlotte watched the gathering crowd from the high study window at the palace, and finally the noise from the people told her that they had begun to move. She watched, tapping the window ledge anxiously with her fingertips, until she could make out the horsemen distinctly outside the palace grounds. Then, followed by Zevran, she rushed out of the room, through the audience chamber, and downstairs to the main gates of the palace. If not for Zevran's hand again on her arm she would have run down through the people and under the very hooves of the horses.

She waited at the top of the long sweepings stairs, until she saw the riders come in through the gates, and then she called, "Alistair!" in a voice that rang out over the rest of the noise of the crowded people. These long months without him, and here he was finally, safely home. Sunlight seemed to illuminate him apart from the other men that rode with him, picking out the details of his shining armor, his proud easy seat upon the large brown horse, and his face as he smiled and laughed and called to the people who surged close.

His blonde head went up as he turned that familiar smile that tugged at her heart. He urged his horse forward to the bottom of the steps, swinging out of the saddle in one smooth movement. He paused a moment, looking up at her, and their eyes met and held. Everything else fell away in that instant and her breath caught in her throat. Then he ran up the stairs and caught her up in an embrace, holding her close against his mailed chest. The people in the square cheered loudly as they kissed. Tears squeezed out from under her tightly closed eyelids. He was home, he was home.

Leliana, who had returned to the palace with the soldiers, sighed happily and then snorted as she saw Zevran roll his eyes.

"This reminds me of our wedding day," Alistair chuckled. "They cheered fit to burst the Chantry when we took our vows." She buried her face in his neck and breathed deeply. He smelled of salt from the sea, leather, sweat, and deep down, his familiar scent.

"I'm so glad you're back," she said, raising her face to kiss his cheeks.

"You look beautiful." He touched her face gently, wiping the tears away, and then lowered his fingers to brush the top of her belly. "Have you ever noticed that you only really cry when you're happy? If you're sad or scared your eyes get really big and shiny, but never spill over." His smile widened. "Now, someone needs to address these people before they riot." With his arm still around her, he turned to face the open square in front of the palace and raised his voice.

"Thank you for the welcome," he called, and immediately shouts and cheers rang back. "It is good to be back in Ferelden, for more than one reason." He tightened his arm around her waist. "My trip was a success, and I will be staying in Denerim with your queen for some time now. Also, we are pleased to announce that there will soon be an heir to carry on the Theirin name." At this, the noise from the people was so loud that it was several moments before he could speak again. "I was informed of this by the queen shortly after I left for Anderfels. Please join me in celebrating this happy news tonight!" After several long moments of laughing and waving, he and Charlotte turned to walk back into the palace together.

"My friends," he said, addressing Zevran, Leliana, and Wynne, who had come down from her room at the sound of the commotion. "It is good to see you again, but I am in dire need of a hot bath and a meal. It's been a long trip, and I've been away far too long. We will catch up later." They all nodded, understanding.

Alistair steered Charlotte toward the stairs, and they headed for their rooms. Once behind the closed door, he laughed, admitting, "Well the bath is a good idea, but I really wanted to get you alone first. I can't imagine spending another moment speaking to someone else when we have so much to discuss." He put both his hands on her belly. "Tell me, are you alright?"

Charlotte placed her hands on top of his. "Yes, I am. I feel fine, strong. I had heard pregnancy was a terrible ordeal, full of sickness and pains, but I have none of that. Everyone who has poked me with magic says the baby is healthy. It kicks me from time to time." She smiled and touched his face. "You needn't look so concerned. You're back now, the country is peaceful, and we're to have a child."

"Yes," he sighed, and the tense lines on his forehead relaxed as he smiled. His soft brown eyes lit up when he smiled like that. "Have you noticed what pregnancy has done for your bosom?" He laughed as she slapped his shoulder in mock anger. "Really, I mean it. Here, now help me out of this."

He stepped back and wriggled out of the chainmail shirt with her help, shedding it carefully like a snake's skin. It jingled gently against the floor as it fell. His linen undershirt was stained with sweat.

"Looks like I really do need that bath," he said, pulling the fabric away from his sides in distaste.

"Later," Charlotte murmured, and put her arms around him.

"Oh," he said, surprised, as she kissed him. "Is it… um… okay? To do this, I mean? Now?" He flushed, then returned the kiss and embrace.

"Oh yes." She reached up to loosen the buttons at the neck of her dress, allowing it to slip off her shoulders.

"Well who am I to argue?" He smiled at her, then took her in his arms again.


	10. Chapter 10: The Birth

She stood at the edge of a great bog that stretched to the horizon. The cold mud squelched under her boots as she turned, scanning the hulks of trees that pressed in close around her. It was the Korcari Wilds, and she could see the walls of the fortress Ostagar in the distance, obscured by mist. She slogged through the water and weedy hillocks toward the stone ramparts, until a figure hailed her from out of the fog.

"Hello, Warden."

She froze, the hair prickling on the back of her neck. The voice was slippery, grating, and worst of all, familiar. Turning slowly, she watched the long-dead Daveth slump out of the mist, followed in a moment by Jory. They shambled toward her, empty eyes rolling. Daveth was laughing, a horrible, choked sound.

"No," she whimpered. "No, you're dead." For the first time in a long time, she was very afraid.

"Oh yes," Jory rasped, "very dead, no thanks to you."

She backed away from them on legs that shook, backed away with her fist clenched over her mouth until she bumped into something. Wheeling around, she saw that it was Duncan. He turned his blood covered face toward her.

"We're all dead, Charlotte," he intoned, raising a mangled hand in her direction. "Soon you will be, too."

Behind him from the mist came other forms: her mother and father, Ser Gilmore from Highever, her childhood friend who had drowned in a storm, even Arl Howe, whom she had slashed to ribbons in her rage. All of them shuffled forward with their arms outstretched, grasping.

Her will broke then, and she ran through the mist, not caring if she was heading toward Ostagar or not, just as long as it was away from the hideous dead things in the swamp that wanted to hurt her. She ran blindly until her breath came in gasps and then she stopped, panting, and leaned against a tree. There was no sign of the corpses from the bog, and all was quiet.

A breath of wind parted the cold mist in front of her and she squinted, seeing another outline just ahead.

"Thank the Maker," she muttered, starting forward again. "Alistair, what's going on?"

He stood with his back to her, his hands hanging limply at his sides. His armor, normally so clean and bright, was dull with rust and dirt. She stopped before she touched his shoulder, and as he turned slowly, a scream tore itself from her throat. He was also bloodied, his eyes empty, his face blank and bleached with death.

"Come and be dead with us, my love," he groaned, shuffling forward.

Hands grasped her shoulders from behind and held her, despite her desperate fighting to free herself.

"Submit yourself, for the greater good," the dead Duncan reminded her.

She screamed again as Alistair gripped her arm and drove a glittering dagger deep into her belly. The wrenching pain followed her down into unconsciousness as she slumped into the shallow cold water of the swamp, and she closed her eyes for the last time.

* * *

It was the pain that woke her. The dream, the same dream for a month now, was frightening, disturbing even, but it had occurred often enough that she could discount it upon waking. Her pregnancy had been an easy one, despite the size of her bulky new body, except for this dream that had been troubling her sleep lately.

The sharp pain in her middle came again, and she opened her eyes. That had been no dream. It was not late in the night—the fire in the hearth had not yet burned down to the embers. By the flickering glow she ran her hands over her huge belly that rose up under the coverlet like an island. There was another feeling there, a stirring.

"Alistair," she whispered, turning her head.

He was sleeping on his side, snoring slightly, the quilt rumpled and pulled up over his shoulder until only the top of his tousled head was visible at the top. He didn't stir, and she reached over and shook him slightly.

"Hmmm," he grumbled. "Whazzit?" He raised his head up off the pillow without opening his eyes.

"Alistair, the baby." Charlotte couldn't seem to get her voice any louder than a rough whisper as another pain rippled through her.

"What?" This time he was fully awake. He sat up suddenly and rubbed his eyes. "It's time?" Seeing her pinched face and worried nod, he swept back the blankets and began dressing.

"I'll get Wynne," he said, pulling on clothes haphazardly. "Just sit tight, and I'll be right back." He started to leave, but then turned back. "Do you need anything?"

She shook her head. "No, but hurry back." He leaned over and kissed her lightly.

* * *

Wynne walked slowly out of the bedroom, wiping her hands on a soft piece of linen, and smiled. As soon as the outer door clicked open, Alistair jumped to his feet. Despite Zevran and Leliana's attempts to distract him, he had not moved from the corridor outside the rooms during Charlotte's long labor. Zevran had given up first, throwing up his hands and declaring that he could be found in the Gnawed Noble tavern if anyone would seek him. Leliana had left him a little later, after still more failed games of Wicked Grace, and told him softly that she would return to check on him later.

In answer to the frantic look on his face, Wynne laughed. "It's all right," she said calmly, smoothing her white hair back from her forehead. "You can go in to see them now."

"The baby? Is it...?" He gestured with his hands when words failed him. There were dark circles under his eyes. He had attempted to get news from the maids that periodically entered and left the room with basins and linens, but none spoke to him. There had been no noise. Was that a good sign, or a bad one? he had wondered.

"Go and see them," she repeated, patting him on the arm. "They are waiting for you, Papa."

Alistair stopped only long enough to hug the mage quickly and give her the biggest smile she had ever seen on his face before he entered the room.

Charlotte was curled on the rumpled bed, lying on her side. Someone had combed and braided her long hair, and washed her face. She looked tired and a little pale, he thought, but she beamed at him when she saw him come in. In the curve of her body above her bent knees, something moved.

"Look, here comes your father," she crooned into the blankets, rearranging the folds as he sank slowly down on the bed across from her. "Don't look so nervous, Alistair," she chided gently.

The words he planned to say to her died on his lips as he saw not one, but two babies curled against her on the blankets.

"Two?"

"I thought we'd call the boy Duncan," she said, brushing the shock of brown hair on the baby's head. "And the girl Eleanor. I think she shall be fair like her father." The little girl had wisps of strawberry blonde hair.

"We have twins." Alistair was still stunned, even as Charlotte picked up Eleanor and put her in his arms. He cradled her and looked down into her small face. The infant waved her fists and cooed.

"Maker," he said softly, and leaned over to kiss Charlotte.

* * *

Perhaps Alistair the Warden King and Queen Charlotte the Brave went on to have more adventures ruling Ferelden. Perhaps the kingdom was quiet and they raised their children in peace. Not much is known at this time about their lives until they went to their Calling in the Deep Roads, together, as always, until the end.


End file.
